The Deathman Cometh....

You know you sometimes read these little new bits in the newspaper and laugh because they can't be true. And yet they are.

This week, I read about a man who was on the way to the store to get some mushrooms for his pizza, who died when he swerved to miss hitting a deer. The clincher? He was riding a scooter.

You laugh because you think, No way, what kind of bad luck are you under to have that happen? I mean, he was wearing a helmet!

To top this, this guy was in my yoga class. A marathon runner. Tight hamstrings--only wanted to do that yoga pose where you can put your fingers under your heels and straighten your hips to the ceiling. He was a wonderful guy. For one, he never was resentful for the fact me and my two yoga-partners-in-arms were complete gigglers; and if any of us were missing, he'd ask after that person by name. He was smart, interesting, and the loving father of three sons and loving husband of a professor here at the university. He was a very valued colleague; he worked for the chief counsel of the county. He ate right, I believe; exercise faithfully; and even yoga'd to relax. What does all this get you?

Dead. From a rogue deer.

So last night I yoga'd to the best of my ability, as we lit candles for him and played his favorite CD in class; then after we went out for ice cream (though we hadn't had supper yet.) Because you never know. You might not get a chance for dessert if you do it the "right way."

So go get ice cream. Tell your friends you love them. Hug your children.

The Grim Deer stalks, baby. It stalks.